


31/Three: The GW Entries

by Crown_of_Winterthorne



Series: 31/Three Challenge (July 2016) [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Blindfolds, F/M, Handcuffs, M/M, Multi, Piercings, Polyamory, Tattoos, Tumblr drabbles, mention of canon character death, reference to abortion in a literary work, three paragraph drabbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:57:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7645672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crown_of_Winterthorne/pseuds/Crown_of_Winterthorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gundam Wing based drabbles for the 31/Three Challenge issued by ThePlottingHousewife. "Write three paragraph drabbles for 31 days."</p>
<p>Various pairings, various ratings (nothing above Mature) and the major warnings are in the tags, but there may be others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	31/Three: The GW Entries

**Author's Note:**

> Titles/prompts are taken from a July journaling prompt I found on Pinterest. 
> 
> Skipped numbers indicate I wrote for another fandom/original that day.

**1\. Prayer** (No pairing, Maskim AU)

Duo leaned against the bus window, adjusting his headphones a little so that he could rest his head more comfortably against the fogged-over glass. He cranked the volume up more so that he couldn't hear the rest of the basketball team over David Draiman's voice. Traced lines over the glass before scrubbing them away with his palm, leaving it cold and wet.

Beside him, Heero nudged his shoulder. Arched his eyebrows in silent question. _Are you all right?_

He nodded, shrugging in a way that hinted at the truth behind the lie, and looked away. It was too dark to see anything but the lights of the little towns they passed through on the way home to their equally small town. Blurred by rain and fog, Duo wouldn't have been able to see anything anyway. Didn't really want to. It was always the same.

* * *

**3\. Explore** (No pairing)

They hadn't seen another car in hours. It had been even longer since they'd seen a town. The road had gone from reliably paved to barely graveled to dirt. It was now little more than two wheel-sized ruts cutting through the hard dirt and sagebrush. The mountains looked no closer than they had thirty miles ago.

"You know, this is how people die out here," Duo commented, wrestling with the large map. His cell phone had given up the bars hours ago too. They had plenty of food and water in the back of the truck, along with spare cans of gas, but the back of his neck was starting to prickle with doubt. He'd signed on for treasure hunting, not becoming an episode of _Disappeared_.

"No, people die out here because they're not prepared," Heero responded, nudging the truck over the hilltop. He didn't want to say anymore. Didn't want to jinx it, the way he had last time and they'd had to Jerry-rig a new radiator hose. This time they were going to find it. He was sure.

* * *

**4\. Ponder** (4x?)

He watched Quatre from the corner of his eye. He _always_ watched Quatre from the corner of his eye. It was impossible not to. There was something about the blond that drew his attention like a moth to a flame and all of those other cliché's.

Tonight it was his laughter, free and open in the way it hadn't been in awhile. He looked relaxed and happy as he spoke with their friends, his pale hair shining under the lights and his blue-green eyes dancing with mirth. Anyone would be drawn to Quatre when he looked like that. He really couldn't be blamed for falling, could he?

And he had tried to fight it. Really, he had. Tried to tell himself that he wasn't meant for people like Quatre, wasn't meant for things like happiness and love. Then Quatre would do or say something that weakened his resolve, gave him hope for impossible things. Reminded him that he was worth something too.

* * *

**6\. Procrastinate** (5x2)

The pile of paperwork sat there mocking him. Just like it had done all morning. Like it had done all week. Okay, fine. For the last two weeks. But could anyone really blame him? Duo hated paperwork. With a passion. It just seemed so... useless. Pointless. Why did he need to fill out reports when his job was clearly simple: Go to location. Break shit, steal shit, kill shit or blow shit up. Come home. Repeat.

Any monkey with a pen could fill out the boring paperwork. Why did it have to be Duo? He complained about that nearly every time he looked at his inbox, to the point where the others were sick of hearing it. Preventers had to be held accountable, Quatre reminded him. Missions that were on the up and up (and 99.9% of them were) had to be documented. Whether Duo liked it or not. Trowa simply pointed out that none of them liked paperwork. Heero had just rolled his eyes and ignored it. He'd given up on trying to change Duo's procrastinating habits years ago. So Duo put it off for as long as he could, the pile of paperwork growing ever higher.

Wufei had had enough. Friday afternoon, he'd come into the office, handed Duo a pen and told him to "get writing, monkey." Duo had whined and pouted and complained. He'd tried to out-stubborn Wufei, to no avail. The bastard had Une's approval to use any means necessary and he played dirty. Quatre would have cajoled. Heero would have pulled a gun on him and Trowa would have just handcuffed him to the chair until he did it. But Wufei? Fei had done the unthinkable. He had gone straight to bribery and promised a full weekend of mind-blowing, filthy, "whatever Duo wanted" sex. Duo got to writing.

* * *

**7\. Rain-drenched** (1x2, possibly a prequel to "Alive" from the "Worth a Thousand Words" drabble collection)

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to be standing here with his tears indistinguishable from the rain running down his cheeks. He wasn't supposed to be kissing Heero like he'd die if he let go, because when he let go, Heero was going to leave.

It didn't make it easier when Heero clutched at Duo's wet and tangled hair, dug his fingers into the small of his back and pulled him closer, equally reluctant to let go. That this wasn't their choice made it harder, made them both want to rage against the new "benevolent" government who owned their lives and pulled their strings.

Sobbing against Heero's mouth, Duo didn't beg him. Couldn't bring himself to repeat the same pleas that he'd made for the last forty-eight hours. It would do no good; it never had. All he could do was kiss him and cry because this time, he was sure that Heero wasn't coming back to him.

* * *

**8\. Ambition** (Relena, no pairing)

For the better part of two years Relena had been moving from one crisis to another. It would have been draining for any adult and she had been on the cusp of fifteen when it all began. She had never asked to be thrown into the roles demanded of her. At fourteen, her biggest ambition had been to grow up to marry a man like her father. To be a mother to a perfect pair of children and play the politician's perfect lady-wife.

At fifteen, she had just wanted to survive to see sixteen. To no longer be the pawn of men like Treize and Dermail. To no longer carry the weight of a name she was forced to believe in. And at sixteen, she had grown weary of the threats on her life. The continued fighting done in the name of peace and superiority. What had the sacrifices of her youth and innocence–their youth and innocence–been for if the ESUN still couldn't live in balance?

She was seventeen now and far more tired than she should be at such a young age. No one had ever asked Relena what she wanted. To be honest, she wasn't entirely sure what she wanted, when she hadn't had the chance to think about it since the day her father died and her world came crashing down around her ears. She had started to question her dreams and ambitions long before then–maybe even before Heero and the beach. She wondered if it wasn't time to revisit what–and who–Relena Darlian-Peacecraft wanted to be.

* * *

**10\. Sonnet** (no pairing, Maskim AU; "Mrs. Noventa" would be referring to Sylvia's mother, btw. Not her or her grandmother. Also, not a sonnet, but this is based on real events. _All of it._ )

Mrs. Noventa didn't like to call on Duo during AP English anymore. Not since the "Laertes is trying to say Hamlet is only interested in sex" incident of last fall. He had been right, of course, but that didn't mean Mrs. Noventa appreciated him saying so. High school English teachers tended to forget about the sexy side of Shakespeare—although how that was possible, Duo would never understand—and the student body was happy to remind them. Occasionally the teachers even reminded themselves, like when the school purchased their own, (and unbeknownst to them) unedited copy of the 1968 film version of Romeo and Juliet.

So it was with great trepidation that Mrs. Noventa allowed Duo to answer with his interpretation of John Donne's "The Flea." Some of the more naive students assumed that it was a literal flea. She doubted that Duo would be one of them. She expected that he would understand and point out that it was about premarital sex and honor. She hadn't expected the firestorm that he was about to casually unleash.

"It's a baby," he said, chin in hand as he looked dispassionately at the text on his desk. "And they're talking about abortion."

* * *

**14\. Accentuate** (3x4)

Shoulders. It had always been about the shoulders. Which was strange, really, because until Quatre met Trowa, he had never really considered how lovely a nice set of shoulders could be. He had always noticed faces—the consequence of being a Winner and meeting so many different ones—or hands, the result of being a musician. From the distance that separated Sandrock from the other pilot's Gundam, it had been the impressive width of Trowa's shoulders that Quatre first noticed. Trowa had been even better up close.

Even now, years later, it was Trowa's shoulders that Quatre always noticed first. The wonderfully wide expanse of them and the way his fitted tees and sweaters stretched across them. The way that they complemented the broad chest that tapered down to a trim waist and slim hips. There was nothing that Quatre loved more than to slide up behind Trowa and wrap his arms around that waist, lay his head against one shoulder blade and close his eyes.

Quatre breathed in the familiar scent of Trowa, spice mixed with vanilla and something that reminded him of the woods. He felt Trowa relax in his arms, lean back against him, heard the rumble of his deep voice as he welcomed Quatre home. Quatre smiled and rubbed his cheek against Trowa's back before asking what was for dinner.

* * *

**15\. Kitchen Floor** (past 2x?)

Duo hated this floor. He'd always hated it. The linoleum was cheap and scuffed, cracked in more places than not. The landlord had refused to replace it, no matter how many times Duo complained. It was ugly too, a black and white checkerboard pattern that Duo had always loathed.

He hated the memories that went along with it too. The blood that he'd spilled after slicing his hand open on a kitchen knife—he could still see stains on the white squares in front of the sink. Their first fight, standing on the ugly floor, yelling uglier things at each other. All of the times that they had unpacked groceries together, the bags sitting beside the fridge. The times that they had dragged each other down and made love on the floor, in too much of a hurry to make it to their tiny bedroom.

It's almost a relief to say good bye to the weathered floor with the pattern that he hates. The boxes are packed and stacked upon it, waiting with his chicken scratch scrawled on the cardboard sides. There aren't many and most of them are labeled for charity or trash. He hates that his life— _their_ life has boiled down to a stack of boxes and a shitty kitchen floor. Most of all, he hates that he can't stop feeling as though it's his fault.

* * *

**16\. Unmasked** (6x2)

They had been dancing around each other all night. Literally, in fact, as Duo danced with Dorothy and Relena, asking both of them about the handsome blond man in the silver Venetian mask and luxurious white coat. He looked like he had stepped out of the Versailles Court, outshining the rest of the masked revelers.

Dorothy had just laughed and told Duo that he didn't have a chance. Relena smiled and shook her head in gentle amusement. That, she told Duo, was her brother. The prodigal son, returned from a west coast university that didn't come covered in ivy, with a degree that didn't involve the words "law" or "medicine." She had also told Duo that Milliardo was single, liked men as well as he liked women and preferred his nickname, Zechs.

It had not been easy to get Zechs alone. He had been surrounded by the costumed crowd, by old friends, by family, by strangers who were as curious as Duo. Yet Duo finally succeeded, with no little assistance from Relena, who had sent the sycophants scattering and introduced them. Duo suggested they step outside onto the quieter balcony and Zechs readily agreed, his low voice sending a shiver down Duo's spine. When Zechs removed his mask, Duo was met with the most startling pale blue eyes he'd ever seen and knew that he was lost.

* * *

**17\. Soft** (1x4)

It had taken Quatre by surprise the first time. He'd expected Heero to be rough in his touch and blunt in his desires. Instead he had found that Heero was gentle and, to be honest, quite at a loss at what to do. Theory, he'd said with a blush, was not the same as practice.

So Quatre had shown him, guided hands that were scarred and callused, and taught Heero how to be his lover. He'd reminded Heero more than once that he wasn't fragile and that if there were bruises or scratches, he counted them as trophies. Yet even now, with experience on his side and history between them, Heero treated him with reverence, pressing firm hands into his thighs and laying gentle lips upon his porcelain-fair skin.

Intensity, Quatre had found, did not preclude tenderness. He bit into the meat of his thumb to stifle a cry as Heero kissed higher and higher. The softness of his hair tickled Quatre's skin and the heat of teasing breath sent shivers through his spine. As he came to pieces beneath Heero's attentive, worshipful touch, Quatre thought that kindness could be its own delicious cruelty.

* * *

**19\. Collected** (Duo, no pairing)

They told a story, these pictures on his skin. Picked up throughout his travels on Earth and in the Colonies, etched in black and in brilliant color until there was hardly a patch of skin left bare. There were dragons on his arms, their toes and treasures marking them as Japanese, Korean or Chinese. The planets chased each other down his leg in a wash of watercolor galaxy and the phases of the moon was spread across his shoulders in careful black and grey.

He wore a sacred heart upon his chest and a rosary wound its way around his wrist. There were names. There were memories. He wore them proudly, even the ones that were faded by sun or marred by scars. The ones that were badly drawn or the ones that broke his heart.

There were Gundams and roses and life and death. Patterns that could only be read by a clever eye, secrets that could never be understood. There were bits and pieces whose meanings were only that they had no meaning at all. Souvenirs picked up on the outskirts of towns with no names shared space with carefully laid out works of art, twisting and twining until memories and memorials became one

* * *

**21\. Lament** (Wufei, past 5+Meilan)

It had never been far from his mind, that day. There were nights when the memories—her memory—crept in close, keeping him awake and miserable as he recounted his failures. As the year went on, as the battles and war went on, he collected more regrets, each compared to that first great loss. It had stood alone for quite awhile as the singular event that changed his life.

Then he lost his clan, his colony. Suddenly he found himself without a home, without a family, all of it destroyed before his eyes. He had been as useless to stop it as he had been when she died. His heart had screamed, his soul fracturing just a little bit more as he realized just how insignificant he was in this universe. What good was he, if he couldn't save the things he cared about most?

And what good was he if his revenge fell flat, regretted as soon as it had happened? Had it even been revenge, if he'd been used as a tool for glorified suicide? It had left him feeling cold and lost, the added confusion weighing upon his shoulders as guilt. He had lost so many. They had called it sacrifice, claimed that they did it for him, to make him stronger, to protect him... the justifications didn't matter. He hadn't been worthy of any of it. He never had been. It had all been for nothing and that was the greatest weight of all.

* * *

**22\. Desire** (1x4)

Heero had always been beautiful. His dark, blue diamond eyes fringed with long lashes, his thick, unruly hair the color of rich earth, his full lower lip that Quatre ached to kiss, because oh, that mouth. Smiles from Heero were rare and beautiful things to be cherished; they made Quatre's heart clench every time, and if he was the reason? It left him breathless.

Taking Quatre's hands into his own, Heero raised them to that beautiful mouth and laid gentle kisses across his knuckles, over his palm, upon the tender skin of his inner wrist. "Why me?"

"Because I love you," Quatre whispered, stepping closer until the length of his body was pressed against Heero's. He was warm and smelled of mint and gun oil. "Because I've always loved you. Do I really need any other reason?"

* * *

**26\. Jeweled** (6x2, possibly related to "Bon Voyeurs" or the Roses AU?)

The first time it was brought up, Duo had been joking. They had been watching an old C.E. movie— _mostly_ watching, at least—and Duo had commented that if he was going to be relegated to royal consort, then he wanted the diamonds to go with it.

The second time it was brought up, Zechs had presented Duo with an enameled, antique jewelry box, and he _hadn't_ been joking. Duo had been caught somewhere between horrified and touched, but then Zechs had asked him to undress and arousal had won out over everything else.

Duo stripped quickly but Zechs was patient as he methodically dressed Duo in diamonds. Yards of them looped around a slender neck, colorfully tattooed wrists and even his ankle. He replaced each of Duo's plain black piercings, kissing his ears after placing heavy stones in the lobes and kneeling as he exchanged the bars in his nipples for hoops with dangling diamonds. By the time Zechs was finished, Duo felt like a work of art, revered and worth far, far more than the plain jewels that decorated him.

* * *

**28\. Here & Now** (1x2)

It was domestic and comfortable, something that neither of them had ever expected to want, let alone actually get. Duo was sprawled across the foot of the bed, barely dressed and half laying on his side as he played chess on his laptop–Trowa was his opponent, halfway across the planet at one of many Winner compounds with Quatre. Duo's hair was spread out behind him, most of it in Heero's lap as it was brushed out.

Heero used slow, methodical strokes of the brush, running it from root to tip, careful not to put tangles into the locks. He'd already spent a half hour combing through it all, working out any stray knots before taking up the brush. The ends had recently been trimmed and the summer sun had put blond into the auburn and mahogany waves.

Their cat–a scrawny calico thing Heero had rescued some weeks ago–jumped up onto the bed and made herself at home in the crook of Duo's knees. Heero moved a length of hair away from her before she could knead it into a rat's nest. Green eyes blinked at him in mild irritation and Heero rubbed affectionately behind her ears in apology. She purred and Heero smiled. He felt the same way.

* * *

**29\. Exploding** (1x2)

They sit side-by-side on the hood of the car, pulled off to the side of the road where it runs along the bluff overlooking the city. Beneath them, they have a full view of the city lights, an urban sprawl that covers most of the valley. Over buildings and houses and parks, colorful showers of light explode, peppering the view with greens and reds and purples. They come sporadically, these simple fireworks bought in supermarkets and the tents that popped up in parking lots every end of June.

The air smells of sulfur and feels hotter than ninety-seven degrees, the breeze doing little to cool the summer night. Duo leans his head on Heero's shoulder, seriously contemplating hacking off his hair the way he does every summer, and smiles when Heero allows it. It's too hot for cuddling and Heero has always been more circumspect about PDAs, even on lonely scenic highways. This is nice though, this quiet, comfortable moment.

They watch the sudden burst of fireworks that come near the center if the city, these coming in quick succession and in brighter colors, more blooms than the simple chrysanthemums still coming in random pops from random places. It's not the best view–they're too far away for that–but it's beautiful anyway. Duo sighs softly, happily, and wonders if he'll ever get tired of this tradition.

* * *

**30\. Yield** (2x1, handcuffs/blindfolds)

They had always been competitive. As allies, as friends and it didn't change when they became lovers. Duo loved it, thrived on it. Heero had that fierce streak of determination, the one that made him strive for perfection in everything, and Duo naturally wanted to provoke him. It could lead to disaster, sure, but more often than not, it turned into something fucking amazing.

That was what had led them here, with Heero handcuffed to their bed and blindfolded, his hair sticking to his flushed face and his skin sheened with sweat. He knew how he looked–stunning, beautiful, fuckable–because Duo kept telling him. Heero bit at his lips, determined not to beg as Duo fucked him slowly, teasing with clever hands and taunting with an even smarter mouth.

Heero had lost track of time; it felt like hours since Duo had closed the thin bands of steel around his wrists. Might have only been minutes since he tied the band of black over Heero's eyes. Time didn't matter any more. Everything had centered down to sensation–the feeling of Duo's body pressed against him, inside of him, his voice urging Heero to simply give in, give up and ask for what he wanted. Beg for what he needed.

* * *

**31\. Preserve** (1x2xR)

It was the best way they could have ended their trip, driving along the coast, visiting wineries and little boutiques that sold homemade cheeses, jams and house-smoked meats. They hadn't planned on filling up a picnic hamper as they went, adding to it like they were completing a scavenger hunt, and buying a woven blanket at a roadside stand so that they could have lunch on the beach.

Despite the sun, it was cool and more windy than breezy–enough so that Relena needed to tie her hair back into a braid that mimicked Duo's. Sea birds wheeled and called in the sky above them as Heero poured wine into the tacky souvenir glasses they'd bought. Duo started opening packages of crackers while Relena sliced salami and cheeses with one of Duo's knives.

They ate and relaxed, leaning against each other in the comfortable way they had only just begun to adopt. Duo had brought his camera–the old film one, the 35mm–and took photos of everything until Heero threatened to take it away the same way he did with the paparazzi. Relena laughed and told them both to behave if they intended on sleeping in her bed later on while Duo mumbled about Heero's lack of appreciation for the fine arts. Heero retorted that Duo's need to preserve the pattern of cracker crumbs on Relena's skirt didn't qualify as fine art and Duo would have sulked, except then Heero kissed him and told him to save some film for after they got back to the hotel room.


End file.
